


Misfire

by enpitsuu



Series: Misfire [1]
Category: Kuroko no Basuke | Kuroko's Basketball
Genre: Akashi's not that scary actually, Alternate Universe, Hitman Akashi, Kidnapping, M/M, Scared Furihata, Scary Akashi, Tumblr Prompt, slight mentions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-22
Packaged: 2018-12-18 17:54:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,893
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11879751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/enpitsuu/pseuds/enpitsuu
Summary: Based on a prompt by writing-prompt-s on Tumblr: You’ve always been a clumsy person. One day, you wake up tied to a chair, and in front of you is the best hitman in the world, who has been trying to kill you for years.





	Misfire

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a fan work. I do not own any of the characters in Kuroko no Basuke. All rights belong to its creator.

There is a throbbing pain at the back of Furihata’s head. Scrunching his face against it as if the pain would lessen by doing that, he tried to remember what he could possibly have been doing to cause such an undesirable feeling, but the pain was preventing his memories from booting up. His eyelids felt heavy and the bright light he could see peeking from underneath the closed shutters filled him with dread but he forced them open anyway in an attempt to gain some bearings. And when he did, the sight before him was not one he expected to see.

A young and very good-looking man dressed finely in a black suit and tie – the kind he often saw in those American secret agent movies – sat on a plain wooden armchair directly in front of him. The man’s skin was pale, in contrast with his striking red hair and eyes, and sat with his arms folded across his chest, legs crossed, sharp red eyes staring straight into Furihata’s.

“Furihata Kouki,” the man called out to him suddenly.

Furihata jumped, and it was only then that he realised his movements were restricted. Both his arms and legs were bound tightly with what looked like a thin rope looped in a series of complicated knots to the arms and legs of a wooden armchair exactly like the one the redheaded man sat on. He instinctively tried to move his arms but to no avail. The binds were absolute.

“W-what’s going on?” Furihata asked in confusion, willing the throbbing pain in his head to go away. He needed to focus. “A-are you the one who brought me here?”

The man did not reply but merely smiled eerily, which was all the answer Furihata needed. He noticed that he was still wearing the suit he usually wore to work and now that the pain in his head was dulling into a more manageable feeling of discomfort, he hazily remembered walking up to the entrance of his apartment after a long day at work when a blinding pain exploded at the back of his head before everything turned black.  

The beginnings of panic churning low in his stomach, Furihata whipped his neck to the left and right, paying no heed to the pangs of pain erupting anew in his head from his careless movements. He was left dismayed when all he could see around him were four white, windowless walls – the wall directly behind the other man had what looked to be a heavy steel door and also the sole exit, and a single light bulb hung from the ceiling right above where they sat. Other than that, there was nothing else. Inside such a sealed space, it wasn’t even possible to tell whether it was day or night on the outside. Furihata felt his blood run cold. He was _trapped_.

“Any attempts to run away is futile,” the man spoke again, as if reading his mind. Furihata gulped and turned to look back hesitantly at those red eyes through his sweaty bangs, deep scarlet glinting against the bright light coming from the light bulb overhead. “And even if you did run away, this is a deserted location in the middle of nowhere and miles away from the nearest civilization. You will not survive the journey.”  

Furihata felt himself starting to shake in his chair and prayed to high heavens that it wasn’t too obvious. He bit down on his chattering teeth and managed to stutter out, “W-who a-are you?! W-what d-do you want from me?!”

There was silence as the man eyed him contemplatively, as if weighing his options and Furihata was beginning to think maybe he would have been better off if he had just shut up when the man replied.

“I do not usually reveal myself – neither name or appearance – to a target who is still alive. But this case calls for an exception. Very well. I shall humour your request, seeing as it might be one of your last. You might know me as the Emperor.”

Furihata gasped loudly. The _Emperor_. Of course he knew that name well! From time to time the news on TV reported of a notorious hitman, highly wanted by the international police for countless crimes and extremely sophisticated methods of... killing people, leaving no trace or evidence and sometimes even no body behind. The only link which connected all the cases to the same perpetrator was one common trait – a wooden wedge, much like a piece from a game of _shogi_ , with the words “Emperor” branded on it would always be found. Furihata felt the panic building in his gut spill over and wreak havoc in his mind, his shaking becoming uncontrollable. _This man_. This deceptively handsome man who looked like he couldn’t be much older than Furihata and who _deliberately_ left behind pieces of _shogi_ at crime scenes just to ensure the police could accurately identify the rightful culprit – himself – was the _best hitman in the world_. Oh God, how did this happen?

“I see you are well aware of my fame,” the Emperor said with a smirk. He looked extremely pleased. “Then there is no need for further introduction. Now, as for your second question… what I want from you should be pretty obvious by now.”

Furihata squeaked. “B-b-but why m-m-me! W-what have I-I-I d-done to y-you?!”

“Oh, it is not so much what you did to me but to others,” the Emperor waved a hand nonchalantly.

Furihata’s mind raced. For the life of him, he couldn’t remember ever, _ever_ doing anything so bad as to have warranted his current predicament. Heck, being as timid and cowardly as was his innate nature, he didn’t think anyone would have found him a threat or even worthy enough to be called an enemy.

“N-no,” Furihata began. He needed to buy time. He needed to stall. Or else he was going to… he was going to… “P-p-please… I-I haven’t done a-a-anything! Wh-who w-would want to k-k-kill me?!”

Unsurprisingly, the redheaded man simply ignored his pathetic pleas, eyes regarding him indifferently. A minute passed in which the brunette shook like a leaf in his seat before the silence was broken again.

“Having said that… there is one thing I wish to understand from you, Furihata Kouki,” the  Emperor began slowly. “Indeed, it is a very curious thing. After all this years, I believe I know everything there is to know about you.”

Years? Furihata was barely registering the words, eyes frantically sweeping up and down and all over his surroundings, looking desperately for something, _anything_ that could save him even as the other man continued to speak. But the words spoken next stopped him dead in his tracks.

“Single, male. 23 years old. Salaried worker at a small, insignificant insurance company. Spends weekends at the library or reading at home. Enjoys cooking but most meals consist of convenience store food in order to save on finances needed to pay the monthly rent. Lives alone in a rundown apartment after the death of his whole family in an unfortunate road accident three years ago—” Furihata gaped, fear momentarily forgotten as one-by-one, the little details of his life was listed down in front of him. Seemingly satisfied by the shock he had induced, his captor’s chiselled face broke into a maniacal grin. “Yes, that is correct, Furihata Kouki. I have been watching you for the past three years of your life and based on all the intelligence I have gathered, the results of my findings conclude that you are nothing more than a mere commoner.”

Furihata stayed silent, flushes of shame now adding into his inner turmoil. There was nothing he _could_ say. Every single fact of his miserable life that had just been spat into his face was completely true.

“In spite of that…” there was a strange tone in the other man’s voice which compelled Furihata to look up and he was caught by surprise at the sudden spike in fury he could feel emitting from the renowned hitman’s very being. “In spite of that, how is it that for the last three years, you have defied every single one of my plans!”

A loud clatter resounded as the man stood up suddenly, sending his chair flying backwards, red eyes glaring dangerously at Furihata as he stood towering over the immobile man.

“I have spent three years, three _blasted_ years watching you and crafting the perfect death sentence for you. And yet, one after another, each and every single one of my plans were doomed to failure. Not a _single_ one of them materialised in the way I envisioned it. Tell me, Furihata Kouki, how were you able to evade all of my perfectly placed traps?”

“W-w-what t-t-traps?” Furihata spluttered in bewilderment, somehow managing to find his voice again. But this seemed to be exactly the wrong thing to say.

“Everything!” the other man bellowed, voice echoing inside the enclosed space of the room. “The poisoned chocolates, the sabotaged bike, the letter with traces of cyanide enough to kill a fully-grown elephant, the speeding car, the gas leak—”

Furihata watched in horror as the angered hitman ranted on about supposed ‘traps’ set up to kill him, most of which he couldn’t remember or didn’t even make sense – probably because he hadn’t recognized the situation for what it was at the time. He _did_ recall the one time last year when he found a box of chocolates sitting on his work desk during Valentine’s, which was supposedly a gift from a secret admirer, but he had been so embarrassed when his surrounding colleagues noticed that he had accidentally upended the whole box of chocolates on the floor – he later deduced that it was probably someone playing a prank on him. And now that it was mentioned, he _did_ have some memory of walking home one night after having too much to drink at a pub for a friend’s birthday when a speeding car narrowly missed hitting him on the sidewalk, but only because he’d tripped over his own two feet and landed in a garbage dump in an alleyway. And if we’re talking about letters, Furihata was always, _always_ misplacing his mail and now come to think about it, that gas leak—

His thoughts were cut-off abruptly by a sudden clicking sound resonating in the room and Furihata found himself staring down the barrel of a handgun. His panic gauge immediately shot up, heartbeat escalating to an unhealthy speed. He hadn’t noticed when the other man had stopped talking but the look on the hitman’s face had completely changed now. The amusement was gone, replaced by a cold and menacing look.  

“You will tell me now, Furihata Kouki. How did you find out about my plans?”

Furihata tried his best. He really did. He opened his mouth to reply in hopes of placating the redheaded man currently pointing a very deadly weapon at him, but nothing came out. How was he supposed to explain to the best hitman in the world that he hadn’t been _intentionally_ foiling the man’s plans? That he had seemingly escaped every single one of those plans due to flukes simply because he was too clumsy? Furihata felt his eyes water in desperation and yet, his vocal chords refused to cooperate.   

Red eyes stared at the pitiful man before him as if judging whether Furihata was putting on an act. After a long moment, the gun pointed at the brunette’s face lowered by an inch. Furihata sucked in a breath at the action.

“You… truly had no idea, hadn’t you?”

Furihata shook his head hard in response, thankful that at least his neck muscles were still listening to him. He jumped when a bark of disbelieving laughter erupted from the other man’s lips, the laughter drawn long and hard until it was bordering on downright lunacy, the effect multiplied as it echoed across the walls. And then, just as suddenly as it had started, it stopped.

“Furihata Kouki, to think that someone as infinitely ordinary as you could have thwarted me for so long. I must say, if nothing else, I laud you for your preposterous amount of good luck. In all my years of experience, it has never taken me this long to complete a hit. Of course, it also goes without saying that I have never failed a hit. And _that_ will not change.”  

Furihata felt his heart stop when the previously lowered gun was drawn firmly back up and pointed straight between his eyes. “N-n-no,” he tried feebly. “P-p-please s-s-stop…d-d-don’t do t-this!”

Who was he kidding. The look on the Emperor’s face was dead serious. This was it for Furihata. He half-expected his whole life to come flashing before his eyes but it didn’t. Instead, his mind blanked out, his last thought being that at least there wouldn’t be anyone who would be hurt by his death.   

“Do not think too badly of me, although I suppose it no longer matters now. For someone like me who has never failed in any of his endeavours, this outcome was inevitable. Goodbye, Furihata Kouki. This time, your end is absolute and victory shall be _mine_.”

As pale fingers cocked the loaded gun and moved towards the trigger, Furihata shut his eyes tight and braced himself for impact, surrendering himself to his fate. He heard the soft ‘click’ from the trigger being pulled and flinched away on impulse.

But there was nothing.

After a second, there were a few more ‘clicking’ sounds. _Click, click, click._

Silence.

And still nothing. Strange.

After a good twenty seconds had passed and Furihata was pretty sure his face was still intact, he squinted an eye open. The Emperor remained standing exactly where he had been but he was now looking at the gun in his hand with a funny expression on his face. Red eyes snapped onto Furihata when he noticed the brunette staring and before Furihata could even think to react, the skilled hitman had pointed the gun straight at Furihata’s heart with one lightning-fast move and fired.

_Click_.   

And nothing else.

Without another word, the hitman tossed the useless gun carelessly behind him where it skidded across the granite floor before coming to a rest at a corner. Furihata blinked at it in shock, eyes wide.

“It was my favourite gun,” a calm voice filtered through the fog of Furihata’s shock. He watched in confusion as the other man picked up his fallen chair and returned it to its original position before taking his seat in front of Furihata, arms and legs crossed, exactly the way it had been when Furihata had first woken up in this room. “I had it custom-ordered from the best gun-maker in the world. Comfortable to use and always efficient for its purpose. And yet, today it was a dud.”  

Furihata didn’t understand it. He still didn’t know how or why, but the imminent feeling of danger was gone. Before he could even register what was happening, the binds around him had been loosened, the redheaded man wrenching the knots open expertly in swift movements.

“W-wha-what are you d-doing?” Furihata asked when the binds had all fallen off and he was free to move again.

“There has been a change of plans,” came the reply. “I have taken an interest in you.”

“Wh-what?!”

The redheaded man smiled. “You are an interesting one. Never have I met someone who could stand up against me so many times, regardless of the means.”

Red eyes swept across the length of Furihata’s body, making him shiver. He was torn between feeling alarmed and relieved at having escaped death. At least for now.

“Now that things have come to this, I would like us to get reacquainted with each other,” the hitman went on.

“Re-reacquainted? U-u-us?”

“Precisely. Allow me to introduce myself. My name is Akashi Seijurou, also known as the Emperor and best hitman in the world.”

Furihata’s eyes widened even more than it already had been. Did the Emperor just reveal his _real name_ to Furihata? But the Emperor – _Akashi,_ was looking at him expectantly now so Furihata quickly pulled himself together before responding with a, “I-I am F-f-furihata K-kouki.”

“Well then, _Kouki_ ,” Akashi said with a satisfied smile on his striking features, speaking as if he’d known Furihata all his life. “Since you have become my first hit to remain alive, not to mention that you now know me by name and face, you shall henceforth stay always by my side and never leave me. As this looks to be a long term arrangement, I expect us to get along well with each other.”

Furihata’s jaw dropped as he stared at the still-smiling, dangerous, scary, crazy and yet at the same time ridiculously attractive man in front of him. What the hitman was proposing – no, it wasn’t a proposal, it was a _command_ – was unbelievable and the consequences so wide-reaching. In any case, Furihata didn’t think he was going to have much say in the matter. One thing’s for sure, from that moment, something in his life had changed.

Well, whether it was a fluke or clumsiness or luck or fate or whatever it was that got him into this mess in the first place, Furihata hoped that it would continue to hold up.

**End**

**Author's Note:**

> A/N Was supposed to be working on a new long-ish AkaFuri but saw this prompt and this happened instead. Still testing out various writing styles as I get used to writing again. Any feedback is appreciated! Feel free to look me up on Tumblr under the same name!


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